Of All the Things I've Lost
by Philote
Summary: Nathan has lost track of Peter too many times. Now that he has him, he’ll keep him safe…whatever it takes.


Title: Of All the Things I've Lost

Author: Philote

Rating: PG

Summary: Nathan has lost track of Peter too many times. Now that he has him, he'll keep him safe…whatever it takes.

Disclaimer: The characters and situations of _Heroes_ do not belong to me. I make no money from this story. Please don't sue.

Author's Note: Written for the "Lost and Found" challenge on heroesflashfic. Spoilers through "Parasite."

oOo

The room is spacious and a single, of course. He paid dearly for it but he would settle for nothing less. It is well-lit and warm, and, quite frankly, almost nicer than Peter's apartment. Of course, here there are people who keep it tidy.

It takes him a moment to spot Peter, huddled as he is on the floor by the big window. The glass doesn't open and is supposedly bulletproof, but the position still makes Nathan nervous. "Peter?" he calls softly.

The dark head swivels, and something in Nathan twinges when Peter's eyes light up as he recognizes his visitor. No bangs fall to conceal the reaction. The haircut is pure Petrelli, trim and neat. Peter's hair hasn't been this short since he was five. There's a certain irony in how presentable he looks now, when he rarely leaves this room.

"Nathan!" he exclaims, struggling to his feet. "I knew you'd come."

"I always come," he states simply, coming fully into the room and shutting the door behind him.

Peter comes close, lowering his voice. "You have to get me out of here."

Nathan's fingers itch to reach out and smooth over Peter's forehead, to touch the mark and feel the skin that has finally fused enough to be rid of the stitches.

He clenches his fist, and keeps it at his side. "You know I can't do that," he explains gently.

Peter's brow furrows. "Nathan, they don't know about me. About what I can do…they can't help me. I can't stay here."

Nathan reminds himself to be careful, that this has to be played just right. He tilts his head, cautiously inquisitive. "What is it that you think you can do?"

Peter steps closer still, lowering his voice until he's barely audible. "My powers, Nathan. The flying, the healing, the invisibility…the things I get from you guys. The things that could make me blow up, remember?"

"Not this again. We've been through this. There are no powers, Peter."

Peter's expressive face goes through disbelief and a brief flash of fear before settling on frustration. He pulls back as if he's been slapped. "What are you talking about? You've _seen_ them."

Nathan re-closes the gap between them, but still doesn't touch. "You know where you are, right?"

"I'm in a mental hospital," he states baldly, and there's accusation in the tone. But then he wavers; ducks his head and reaches to sweep back hair that is no longer there. His hand hovers for a moment before he lowers it and confesses, "I don't remember how I got here."

Nathan nods, exuding sympathy, but he doesn't mince words. "You had a psychotic break. You started talking nonsense about superpowers…you jumped off a building. You," his eyes drift to his forehead again, "got hurt. This was all we knew to do. But it's for the best, Peter. It's a great facility; you like your doctor. You've told me so."

Peter is shaking his head, not wanting to believe him but clearly confused. He rubs a hand against his forehead. Nathan cringes, but if it hurts Peter doesn't seem to notice. He simply murmurs, "It's hard to think."

"Yeah, that's probably the drugs." Peter looks up at him sharply, betrayal clear in his eyes, and Nathan just sighs. "They have to keep you from hurting yourself, Pete." Though he was initially a little concerned about the dosage when Peter couldn't even remember that he'd had this conversation before. It's a tradeoff—lucidity for making sure he doesn't try to take off out the window (and perhaps succeed).

Peter is getting agitated now, pacing away and then back. "I don't know what this is, but please, you have to listen. I'm dangerous, Nathan. I could hurt people."

"That's why you're safest here."

"No! You don't understand! I can control it, I just…I need Claude."

"Peter, there is no Claude. He's all in your head. All of this, it's all in your head. You're not well."

Peter shakes his head in denial. "No, no. You can fly…and Claude is real."

"Think about it. Has anyone else ever seen him?"

"He's invisible!"

"Your invisible friend," Nathan agrees, placating.

Peter frowns and announces petulantly, "He's as real as you are."

Nathan finally reaches out now, grasping his brother's upper arms. "Then where is he?" He digs his fingers in, tight enough to leave bruises but sure to make his point. "Can you feel him touching you?"

"I could. I used to, I mean, when he was here. He…left."

His frown deepens, as if he can't quite remember why Claude left, and Nathan pounces on that. "If he left you when you needed him most, then what good is he? Why would you even want a friend like that?"

"I needed him. My powers…" But he sounds less sure now.

Nathan gentles his voice and his grip, lightly kneading Peter's shoulders. "You had a problem you couldn't handle, so you made someone up to help you. He's gone now because you don't need him anymore. I've got you. You're safe here, and we're going to get you well."

Peter's eyes are welling up, confusion slowly giving way to dismay. Still, he shakes his head again. "Why are you doing this?" he whispers. His voice breaks, and takes a chunk of Nathan's heart with it.

He swallows hard, looks Peter in the eye and whispers, "Because I love you," and he's never been more honest.

Peter's face crumbles a little more at the candid statement. He looks away. Nathan finally gives into the impulse and cradles the side of Peter's head, letting his right thumb ghost over the fresh scar. It's soft, barely a bump under his touch, and so unlike the gaping gash that haunts his nightmares. He forces his attention away to pick up Peter's limp hand and place it against his own chest, over his heart. "I'm here," he repeats. "I'm not going anywhere."

Peter flattens his hand and stares as it rises and falls in time with Nathan's breathing. Then his fingers curl, entangling, and Nathan recognizes that he is hanging on as he finally gives in to the idea that maybe it is just make-believe. He never fully accepts it—but there is doubt. He seeks Nathan's eyes, looking for reassurance.

Peter has always had an uncanny and sometimes very inconvenient ability to read him. Nathan can no longer keep his own mask in place, so he reaches out to pull his brother into an embrace. Peter resists, but it's only a heartbeat before his tension drains and he curls close, burying his face in Nathan's neck.

His nose is cold, and Nathan absently makes a mental note to have the thermostat turned up a bit. As his arms tighten he distances his thoughts, thinking about the looming election and the polling numbers, determined to keep his emotions in check. Because he is doing the right thing, and he can't let himself doubt it.

He's had to find Peter too many times since this mess started; spent far too much time wondering if his brother will survive his latest catastrophe. As long as here is safe, here is where he'll stay. Because if he is physically here, Nathan can always find him and bring him back.

No matter how lost his mind may be.

oOo


End file.
